kingdom of nations

Chapter 313 New Life (Part 2)

"what!"

A sharp scream came from the mud house that had been repaired not long ago.

Goru's wife is giving birth.

A farmer's wife is certainly no match for a lord's wife. No one cares when she became pregnant or when she will give birth, not even herself—until the wheat ripened, her belly began to swell and harden—and based on her previous experience, she told Goru that they were having another child.

If it weren't for their new lord allowing them to pay less tax—God help, this was something Goru, even Goru's father and grandfather, had never heard of—but in any case, the wheat and beans that actually remained in Goru's mud house were real, tangible, visible, smellable, and even chewable.

And, Goru, as a farmer with an exceptional talent for counting, aroused the interest of the Venetians, who often called him to help out—or rather, to amuse these bored and wretched men, and occasionally he would receive some rewards—such as being allowed to stay under the table with the dogs.

Only then did he allow his wife to keep the child—not long ago, their youngest son had died, which had been a great blow to Goru. He had no feelings for the child, but the sudden loss of several years' worth of food was something he found hard to accept.

How lucky this child is to grow up in the mother's womb, to be born, and perhaps even to drink the mother's milk after birth...

"What happened?" Goru asked as the woman who came to help came out. "She's been in labor for quite a while." This wasn't her first child; her previous births had all gone smoothly.

“That’s a bad baby,” the woman replied. “You’ll need to prepare a bag of beans.”

This is not a good thing. "Prepare a bag of beans" means that Goru may be going to find the oldest living woman in the village. She has a hook that she uses to hook the fetus off when a woman has been unable to give birth for a long time. The fetus will definitely die, and the body may be broken into pieces.

A bag of beans was payment. When everyone has work to do, there's no such thing as free help. Even this woman, Goru had to give her a bowl of beans.

Goru almost wondered if it was because he was too arrogant that he had attracted the devil's jealousy and God's punishment, causing him to lose not only his child but also his wife.

He stood there blankly for a while, and was about to go into the house to get some beans when he heard his eldest son let out a scream that was so terrified it was almost tearing him apart: "Someone's here!"

The woman immediately rushed into the mud hut, and Goru pulled his eldest son behind a haystack, only peeking out. After a while, he smacked his son on the head and said, "Don't be stupid, that's the steward."

The eldest son grumbled somewhat unwillingly. Now there was only "small light" (the light of dawn), how could he tell who the person was? He could only see the flickering torches, the horse, and the reflection of weapons.

Goru stepped out with his eldest son and looked in the direction of the approaching people. The people arrived quickly, including not only the steward and the police, but also several other farmers from the village, their eldest or second sons. What Goru feared most was that there were indeed two knights on horseback with them, as well as squires carrying flags and leading their horses.

“Goru and his second son by the woods!” the steward called out, holding up a copy of the list.

“Goru and his eldest son,” Goru said.

Hearing the shouts from inside the mud hut, the steward merely glanced at the scene and paid no attention. "Why is it the eldest son? Didn't you originally plan to take the second son with you?" In case he was left behind on the battlefield, the older child would be better able to take on the responsibilities of the head of the family.

“The eldest son is better,” Goru said. The steward didn’t press further, since there were still two of them anyway.

At first, Goru did intend to take his second son to the battlefield, but when the second son heard that he was going to fight, he immediately jumped up to object. What he said... Goru couldn't quite understand. The only thing he could understand was that the current lord was going to be driven out, and the new lord might be sent by the former emperor.

In short, they will continue to live the same lives as before—so why should they risk their lives for him on the battlefield?

He didn't know where his second son had gotten this information from—that bastard was indeed a bit clever, but what he said did change Goru's mind—it was better to take his quiet but obedient eldest son than his unwilling second son.

He had a new son because of this lord, so even if he gave him, along with his eldest son, it wouldn't mean much.

The second son, on the other hand, is too clever by nature. On the battlefield, he either brings misfortune upon himself or others.

"Give it to him," said the knight.

The squire beside him took something out of a bag on the horse's back and handed it to Goru and his eldest son.

"Open it and see," the steward urged. "It's a piece of bread and a piece of rock sugar." The knight had said that it must be delivered personally to the conscripts, and that they must confirm it themselves.

Bread. Goru had eaten bread a few times, but in his life, he was more familiar with beans and wheat porridge. He opened the bag—only the size of a palm, but made of cloth—and inside was indeed a palm-sized loaf of bread, thick, black, and heavy, along with a small, transparent stone.

"This is rock sugar," the manager said with no small amount of envy. "If you don't believe me, just lick it. It's sweet! Just like honey!"

The attendant watched as the rude farmer actually put it to his lips, licked it, and almost couldn't resist snatching it away. His heart was breaking. Did that fool know that he almost ate his entire year's harvest in one bite?
His master also looked regretful, but he knew that robbery or embezzlement were absolutely forbidden by that lord. Moreover, if he could protect Nicosia and even the whole of Cyprus, he could own a whole rock sugar workshop. At that time, he could even build a church with rock sugar if he wanted to. Why should he lose the big picture for the small thing at this time?
“Now that you’ve decided, let’s go,” the knight said, glancing at the sky. “You are the last village; we need to get back to Nicosia before dawn.”

Goru stared at the rock candy for a long time, almost as if he had suddenly been possessed—finally, he took a deep breath and, under everyone's gaze, suddenly rushed into the mud hut. He gripped the "rock candy" tightly, choked his wife's mouth, and stuffed it inside.

“This is… sugar, the saint’s sugar… Eat it, eat it,” he cried incoherently, “Eat it! If you eat it, you will live!” ——————

"Woo!"

Portia let out a muffled wail. At this point, everyone agreed that it was beneath a woman of noble status to scream like a peasant woman during childbirth. This was, of course, nonsense. But Cesar had also told Natia that it was a coincidence—forbidding women from screaming in pain and fear would prevent them from wasting more energy.

Natia sat in a chair, Portia sat on her lap, and they clung with all their might to a cotton rope hanging from the roof beam. Nearby were several women who had given birth—either the wives and sisters of the knights of Count Joseph II of Edessa, or the female relatives of Cypriot nobles. They were all in the same boat with Cesar, and the chances of them betraying him were very small.

Moreover, the Archbishop of Cyprus left behind his students, as well as several priests and monks he considered trustworthy—at this point, let alone the idea that childbirth was a punishment from God, since the woman's husband had been excommunicated by the Pope—although they were also in a difficult position, they could still alleviate Portia's suffering.

"They're here," a maidservant whispered in Natia's ear as she ran up, lifting her skirt.

Natia nodded, and a lady immediately stepped forward to take over Natia's work.

Natia walked out looking exhausted. As soon as she stepped out the door, the dazzling sunlight made her dizzy: "What time is it?"

“The midday prayer is over.” Her maidservant quickly helped her up, and when the knights waiting outside came forward, the reflection of their helmets and chainmail made Natia involuntarily turn her head away; it was too dazzling, and her temples ached as a result.

The knight glanced worriedly at Portia's birthing room—a small chapel—which belonged to the Catholic Church, and the priests inside dared to refuse them entry; Natia's response was to hang him on the city wall.

First births are always more difficult, but the labor process lasted for more than a day and a night. Even as a male knight, he knew the situation was worrying, but he dared not ask casually. In this era, if a child was deformed or had a difficult birth, the priests would blame it on the sins of the father or mother.

He immediately reached for his collarbone, intending to unfasten it, but Natia opened her eyes at that moment. She immediately reached out and slapped the knight's hand away: "What are you doing?"

"lady……"

The knight did this entirely in accordance with the current tradition—when a woman is giving birth, all the rings, laces, buttons, ties, and hooks must be opened, and if the woman is still not born, the doors and windows must also be opened... This was the case when Queen Mary gave birth.

"War is imminent," Natia said sternly. "Would you rather have an arrow shot through your throat by those Byzantines, or have your head chopped off by their axes?"

"but……"

“You don’t need to worry that Cesar will blame you for this—” He didn’t believe it, and Natia swallowed the rest of her sentence—besides, Portia didn’t give birth in the governor’s palace, but in a small chapel not far from the city walls. If everyone had to follow tradition and remove their armor, were they planning to lose without a fight?
“That was the lord’s first child.”

“God will protect him,” Natia said firmly. “You don’t really think that those fallen cardinals and white-robed saints in Rome are God’s agents, do you? All the sins they are committing now will be settled when they fall into hell—and the slander that your master has suffered will also be cleared one day.”

Her chest heaved violently as she walked toward the city wall. Whenever she encountered a knight who had removed even just his gloves, she would order him to immediately put his armor back on. Even if that were the case, she believed that Cesar would not allow these loyal men to sacrifice themselves for an unborn child.

Approximately how many people are here?

“About five thousand,” Knight Albon replied, always grateful to Cesar—from the Franks to the Apennines, all the way to Arrassa Road, the knights’ fiefdoms had always been a source of great trouble for the kings. You see, in any customary law, once a knight has fulfilled his duty, there is no reason to take back the lands that have been granted—but where are there countless lands to be found?
The knights who now own land in the Holy Land all came to the Holy Land with Godfrey of Bouillon, Bodwin and Tancred of Boulogne, Duke Bohemond of Taranto, and Raymond IV of Toulouse. At that time, they fought continuously, conquering city after city and surrounding territories, and only then did the knights have land to share.

Nowadays, almost all knights are landless knights who receive annuities, and there is no doubt that Albon and his companions are the latter, which means that after losing Edessa, they have nowhere to go.

If César hadn't granted them land, they might not even have had the chance to reunite with their wives and children.

Beneath the city walls lies a sea of ​​steel.

A gleaming, spiked helmet; armor resembling fish scales; a single-edged sword and hammer strapped to his shoulder; heavy two-handed axes; and a forest of javelins…

Catapults, ballistae, and movable wooden shield walls...

Anglo-Russians, Rus' and Scandinavians, Pechenegs, Cumans and Uzbeks, Antiochians, Hungarians and other Latins...

“What a lavish hospitality,” Natia said sarcastically, wondering if Manuel I would go to such lengths when dealing with the Saracens.

She watched for a while, then returned to the chapel. She rarely spoke of matters of war, as they were beyond her understanding and control—besides, the knights preferred that Portia give birth to their master's heir.

In this way, even if the outcome turns out to be the worst, they will at least have a glimmer of hope.

But Portia's condition was indeed not good.

(End of this chapter)